


A Night of Crime and Lovers

by Meghan Callahan (cuddlybunny)



Series: Modern/Collegeverse [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Graphic Violence, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, cotton candy sin, slight crossover i guess, whorephobic slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:45:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6206296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlybunny/pseuds/Meghan%20Callahan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margie makes one mistake that comes back to haunt her...and ends up staying the night at Robbie's dorm with him.  Pearl is frantic to find her TA.  Much cockblocking ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night of Crime and Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> “oh i’m just going to write a cute little one-shot about robbie and margie for modern au”
> 
> [spongebob narrator voice] Seventeen pages later
> 
> Thanks to RozUnderPressure for kicking my ass to finish this. And thedi_WRECK_tor because…yeah neddles and kes smut aw yis.

She’d know his voice anywhere. Like the voices of her foster father and her new boss/her idol, his voice was seared into her mind like a brand; the way he spoke as if he had a cold and a sneer at the same time, the way his brogue always sounded muddled as a result.

“Hullo, Magpie.”

Margie froze, hand on her keys, having been angling them to the lock on her car door, heart pounding. Her normally light brown skin seemed to lose its color as she turned, feeling every muscle tense with the need to get away. Her belly quivered and went icy beneath her white blouse and dark purple suit jacket, legs shaking and knees knocking just under the edge of her tasteful black skirt.

He looked a little aged, but, otherwise the same as ever. The same pale, nearly sallow skin stretched drum-tight over his bones, giving him the look of a hungry wolf on the hunt. The same sunken, flat black eyes that looked like two sheets of black glass; reflective and cold to the touch. The same reddish hair, greasy where it was slicked back from his face with several unkempt, messy curls around his neck. The same hooked nose, that he looked down to look at her, the same curled mouth, cruelly twisted into a smile. Or a façade of such. He was also dressed the same as she remembered. Black suit, impeccably dry cleaned and starched so there was naught a wrinkle but where there ought to be, shiny black shoes with a few rusty stains that would never come out. A black coat with a collar made of plush white fur that stood out starkly against the rest of his businesslike, professional attire. And the last, but most worrisome of all, his cane. Jack Splatter did not need a cane to walk, his gait ever strong, powerful, even arrogant.

He used it to keep people in line.

The cane itself was long, black, metal and slim. The head, though, was a ball as big as Jack’s palm, silvery and hard. It had a few small scratches from use. Catching a girl’s tooth on her way down, usually. And that girl would be polishing her own blood, spit, tears and snot off of the silver orb until it shone clean and new again.

Margie gave a small, forced smile. “Hullo,” She greeted sweetly, not sure how to react. How did one have a friendly conversation with one’s former abusive pimp? She shifted the papers a little in her arms like a shield. “Jack Splatter,” She brushed her side bang out of her eyes, “Erm, h-how-how did ye manage ta foind me?” She asked, trying her best not to sound as scared as she felt.

The sky cracked thunder, threatening rain.

“Och, ‘twas nae difficult,” He took a step forward, “Yer all over tha ‘Net, luv. All Oi had ta do was foind the one picture that listed yer new place o’ business.” He took another step forward, and she took a step back, ankle almost rolling in her pumps as she did, “Ye cost me a small fortune, Maergie Cunnin’ham. Ye remember what happens the girls steal me money.”

Margie felt her butt hit the door, “Nae, Jack, Oi did nae steal nothin',” She stammered.

“Mister. Splatter.” He corrected, shifting his cane in his hand in such a way that made her flinch, “Oi'd think ye'd have remembered that.” He looked back at her, “Ye ran off and ye lost me moi money.” He looked at her as she backed up. “Do nae troi ta run. Ye know better. Even in yer fancy Attaway clothes and yer new home, ye'll always be the scum of the back alleys. And ye know it.” He squinted, “Come here.”

“Nae,” Margie shook her head, “Nae, Oi'm not one o' yer girls nae more, Jack. Oi'll not be c-crawlin' back to ye on me hands and knees-”

 _“Mister,”_ Jack grabbed her by the braid, that long hair she loved so much, and yanked her back to him, coiling the locks around his hand and turning her face up to his. “Splatter,” He corrected, looking her over, “Ye were always too damn pretty for yer own good. Never dared cock up yer face too bad, since Oi needed it ta bring in the customers.” He grinned, his lips pulling back in a snarling smirk, “Don't have tae deal with tha' nao, do we?”

Margie whimpered as he rested the ball of his cane against her cheek, scarily close to her mouth, closing her eyes, “Let me go,” She whimpered, “Please...let me go...”

“Cannae do tha', Magpie,” He grinned, “Ye cost me money. Ye know wot I do ta girls who cost me money.” He raised his cane and brought it down on her face.

She didn't feel anything crack or chip, but she felt herself bite her lip, blood spewing the ground. He released her hair, long enough to start bringing the cane up again and kick her down onto the ground, bringing the cane down again and again, the papers that had been in her hands flying as the rain started to fall.

Margie didn't remember curling up in a ball on the ground, as she had so many times before, her arms shielding her head and her legs shielding her belly. But, by the time Jack Splatter was through, it hurt to the bones to try to pull out of the position.

Splatter put his boot in her stomach anyway, hard enough that she gasped and felt blood as she did, making her cough. “Oi'll be back for me money in a week. Ye'd best have it, Magpie.” He stated, putting the bottom of his cane against her aching cheek. “Clean yerself up.” He turned and stalked off as the rain started.

She didn't cry as she picked herself up, having done it a million times before. She took stock of her wounds. No broken bones, just a bunch of bruises. Her lips were bleeding, and her throat hurt to breathe. She wasn't driving home. She looked at the papers on the ground, all wet or blown away, then back at the campus, shivering.

And, like she had a million times before, she started to walk back.

~

He was just waiting for Henry to fall asleep, really. Tapping his fingers, bouncing his foot, knowing his roommate had to pass out sometime soon of sheer exhaustion. But, if he didn’t at least pretend to study, he’d never hear the end of it.

Robert tried his best to ignore the soothing sounds of the rain outside, calling him to sleep in his nice warm bed, away from the books and papers spread on his desk, which was decorated with various pictures of him and his friends, mainly selfies with him, a few he had caught them off-guard with, one or two Polaroids from when he’d been experimenting. He smiled as his eyes caught on his favorite.

It had been their first New Year’s party as a group. Jacob had Kestrel on his shoulders, both of them a bit bruised up from a mix of drinks and rival prizefighters. She had an oversized cup of beer in her fist and the biggest grin he had ever seen on her nearly too-childlike face. Though, she looked about ready to slosh the drink over onto Ned, where the dark-haired boy stood with both arms thrown around Evie’s shoulders in a hug, the girl laughing as she bent forward, like trying to escape. And he and Margie stood off to one side, more than a little tippled, his mouth on hers, her soft, graceful arms wrapped around his neck, body fitted in tight against his, his hands settled on her hips.

He, for the life of him, could not remember who took the picture, whether it was Henry or one of the others. But, whoever it had been had been a genius with the lighting, how the club lights had played on their hair and skin, shadows creeping over Kes’ shoulders, along Ned’s face and Evie’s hair, almost completely hiding Robbie and Margie, but for an ambient pink glow behind them.

A knock on the door jerked him out of his thoughts, shaky and soft and timid. Henry didn’t move, so, it was up to him. He walked out of his room, looking with a small smile at the Indian passed out on his couch, a much-loved and dog-eared copy of Hindu Mythology stories against his chest.

Robbie opened the door and stared in shock at the soaked, shaking figure before him. “Margie?” He asked in shock.  
She had wrapped her arms around herself, body shaking with cold as she dripped on the hall floor. She seemed to have lost one of her black pumps on the walk up, her suit torn in a few places with what looked like boot prints along the other side. Her hair was half-undone, hanging partially around her face.

He stared openly at her face, which was a sea of bruises the likes of which he had only seen at the fight clubs. Her eyes were both blackened, her lips steadily dripping blood, and her nose as well. Her cheeks were already swelling, and it was with a painful wince that she forced a smile. It looked weak, false, plastic and it cut to his heart, “Oh my god…love, what happened?” He reached out to usher her inside, “Come on, you must be soaked through.”

Margie nodded, “Thank ye,” She murmured, like it hurt to talk loudly, “Oi…um…had a run in with an old…” Her eyes seemed to well up with tears and she swallowed them back, “R-Robbie, can Oi stay here tonoight? Please? ‘m naught fit ta be droivin’.”

He carefully slid an arm around her, pulling her in close, “Of course you can,” He whispered, not wanting to wake Henry, “Of course you can. Let’s run you a bath and get you cleaned up.” He kissed the top of her head, “You can tell me all of what happened.”

Margie sniffled against his chest, slowly sliding her arms around his waist. “Thank ye, Robbie,” She whimpered.

He nodded, “What are boyfriends for?” He asked her quietly. His voice shook a little as he did, “Go ahead and sit in the bathroom, I’ll go get you something to wear.”

Robbie watched her go, watched how she wobbled unsteadily on her feet, how she shivered and shook and was careful how she walked, like it hurt her back and her legs. He looked away, walking toward the bedroom to find some clothes big enough for her to wear.

His brain was already whirring with possibilities. Most of them involved a fight of some kind. It had to. How else would there be shoe prints all up and down her sides?

Who would try to fight Margie? He had only heard of her and Kestrel scrapping, but it was never hard and never serious. Not like this. She had been beaten. He took a small, slow breath in.

She would be okay. He would make sure she was okay. Finally, he pulled out one of his bigger button-down shirts, from an aunt who could never get his size right; apparently she thought he and his brother were the same size, and he and Donald hadn’t been in the same room since last winter holiday. He looked the shirt over one more time before walking to the bathroom, gently knocking on the door.

“'m decent,” She answered, though when he opened the door, he noticed that it was really only by virtue of her bath and her hair. She'd already run water in the fairly decent-sized tub to her chest, pulling down her hair and letting it float around her shoulders, in the water around her. Even as much as was covered, he could see her arms, her neck, her collarbone. More shades of bruises covered her skin in blotches, and he could make out a few more indents than he had previously.  
She noticed him staring, looking away sheepishly. Like she was the one who had done something wrong. He sat on the edge of the tub, gently touching her hand, one of the few parts of her that didn't seem like it had been kicked, beaten, otherwise mauled. “Margie...what happened?” He asked gently, “You can tell me, love, I promise.”

Margie was quiet, finally looking up at him. She looked weak, tired, hurt. “Oi...was an idiot,” She murmured, “Put too much oot on tha internet.” She sighed, “Me old pimp found me. Ol' Jack Splatter 'imself.” She sniffed a moment, “He, ah, he wants some of his old money outta me. Gave me a week ta come up with it.” She rubbed her eyes, wincing as she did, “'m so sorry, Robbie. Oi should naught be puttin' this on ye.”

It took a moment for his head to stop spinning. “You don’t have to be sorry,” He stammered out, looking at her eyes, “Oh, Margie, you don’t have to be sorry. I’m glad you came here. I want to take care of you when you get into trouble.” He ran his thumb along the back of her hand, “I want to help you. You don’t have to do everything yourself anymore.” He slowly raised it, gently kissing her knuckles, like that would kiss away the guilt in her eyes, “Sweetheart, how much money do you need?”

“Nae, Robbie, ‘m naught aboot ta let ye get any more involved.” She moved as if she were going to stand up, wincing and sinking back into the water, “Oi’ll naught take yer money ta pay off moi debts.”

He held out his hands to catch her in case she fell, but, she sat down safely, “All right, all right,” He whispered, “At least let me clean you up?” He asked. She nodded, and he stood up, moving toward the cabinets. Only to find them mostly empty. He frowned, at least grabbing up the peroxide. “I may have to wake Henry and have him run to the store.” He mumbled, picking up a washcloth and soaking it in the stuff, partially unintentionally, his hands shaking just a little.

“Oi can wait boi meself, if ye need ta go,” She pointed out, turning her face up to his as he brushed the worst of the blood off of her lips. She winced when he finally hit one of the cuts, where she'd bit in.

“No, I don't want to leave you,” He brushed her cheek, kissing her forehead, “I'm sorry it hurts.”

“'tis nothin' new. Oi'll be okay.” She blinked, staring up at him as he pulled away, “...Robbie?” She asked, “Robbie, are ye…?!” She sat up, reaching up and settling her hands on either side of his face, “Och, luv, nae, do...do nae cry...” She set her forehead on his.

He couldn't help it. The words cut him open. The way she’d said it, so casually, as if her pain and loneliness were something so normal. He could only imagine all that had happened that all this – this sweet girl, who would stand in the way of an entire gang if she had to to protect someone in trouble, beaten, bleeding, broken, and abandoned – seemed normal to her. The tears had started before he knew it.

“Robbie,” Her own voice was choked, emotional, “Please. Oi’m sorry ta burden ye loike this…”

“You’re no burden.” He whispered, leaning down to kiss her lips as gently as possible, “You will never be a burden on me. Ever. I want you to commit that to memory.”

She sniffled, and he raised the cloth, starting to clean away the blood under her nose, “I’ll send Henry for some arnica for your face, and you can stay the night here with me. Professor Attaway should be all right with that.” Robert rubbed the tears from his eyes, “Did you get anything to eat yet?” He gave a weak, shaky, teary laugh, “We can make this just like a date, can’t we? I’ll order in Chinese and we can watch bad romances until we fall asleep.” He touched her arm, feather-light, “I love you,” He whispered.

“Oi love ye more,” Margie replied, putting a hand over his.

“Not humanly possible.” He teased, brushing his lips over hers.

“Then, inhumanly, Oi love ye more.” She teased back, leaning up into him for a real kiss, and he braced his hand on the tub to keep from toppling in with her. 

She always kissed sweet, soft, like a high schooler with their first crush, at least to start; soft, warm lips pressed to his, innocent and chaste. But, as soon as he leaned in and started to kiss her back, it changed, generally for the better. Her lips would slant across his, parting, as she moved in close, pressing curves against his body where they fit just right.

Robbie leaned in this time, her shoulders pressed against the tub, as he tried to tell her with his tongue and no voice how much he loved her, how much he wanted to take care of her. She gave a little whimper, hands tightening on his face, her tongue meeting his to tell him without her voice just how much she loved him back, and how much she wanted him to care for her. He put his hand to her cheek, pulling her in closer.

That was when he felt her wince, pulling away from her, panting. “'m sorry,” He whispered, “I just...caught up in the moment,” He looked at her eyes, pressing a butterfly-soft kiss to her lips, “Let me go wake Henry.”

“Och, let 'im sleep…?” She whispered, “Oi do nae wanna bother him.” She looked up at him, “Me face can wait.”

He smiled, “Get warm, love,” He kissed her forehead, “I'll leave the shirt here.”

“Robbie, really, do nae wake 'im, please?” She asked, “He's prob'ly losin' his moind over Eco.”

He smiled, standing up and walking out the door.

~

“I'm telling you, you've got nothing to worry about,” Jacob sighed, “She's probably just busy organizing whatever it is that you left behind today.” He sat on the couch, stretched out indolently with his feet at one end and his back braced against the other. Just watching Professor Attaway pace was starting to make him dizzy, “Will you come sit down, please?” He motioned to the cushions that his feet were on.

“No, something about this...sits wrong with me.” Pearl had her cell phone in hand, occasionally crossing her arms over her chest, tapping the rose gold edge of it against her chin, “Margaret always at least texts when she's going to be late home.” She sighed, looking down at the screen again. No missed calls. No missed texts. Nothing at all. “She never forgets.”

“She's human, Pearl. She's bound to forget at least once.” He didn't mean to sound callous. He liked Margie just fine; she was a sweet thing, who tried her best to make the school run a little more smoothly. Pearl tapped her phone against her chin again, “Pearl. Please. You're going to worry yourself sick. Sit.”

She did, finally, fingers already tapping on the screen. Texting again, before looking at Jacob. He looked at her, frowning. “Pearl.”

“One call,” She stated, and it wasn't a request. He heaved a long-suffering sigh. It was most assuredly not going to stop at one call, and he knew it. He looked out one window. He did honestly hope Margie was okay, if for no other reason than to stop Pearl’s worry.

Pearl dialed, settled the phone to her ear. She chanced sitting back against the couch cushions, heaving a soft sigh as the phone continued to ring.

“Come on, Crawford,” She mumbled under her breath, “Answer the bloody phone.”

“What?” Jacob wrinkled his nose a little in disgust.

“Hush.” Pearl chided as the ringing stopped.

“Pearlie, my dear,” A raspy, definitely not Crawford voice answered, “How are you?”

“Max,” She rolled her eyes, “Very pressed for time. Is my cousin there?”

“Tsk tsk, all that running around, no wonder you have such a figure. Ricky’s home. A little…busy at the moment.” His voice sounded oddly tight, like he was holding back, something that he was not known to do at all.

“I want to talk to him.” She paused, “Or, maybe you can help me. Is Margaret there with the two of you?”

There was an awkward silence, before Maxwell began to roar with laughter. “Margie?” He asked, “You mean Ricky's old bird? Why the hell would we have her here?”

“Because she surely isn’t here and up until a few months ago, Crawford was her only source of income and stability. Now, is she there or not?”

Max continued laughing, didn’t stop for a few minutes, “Nah, the little hussy’s moved on.” He hissed a moment, “All right, watch the teeth, love.” He growled, “Anyway, Ricky’s got his mouth full for a bit. If we hear anything, we’ll let you know.”

Pearl wrinkled her nose at the mental image that conjured. “Fine, make sure mine is the first you call,” She finally growled out through clenched teeth, hearing Maxwell bring in a breath. She hung up, cutting him off before he could say anything else lewd.

Jacob looked at her, a stern expression on his face, as if he were the one fourteen years senior. “Well?” He asked. His animosity toward the school dean was not unknown to her, but, she kept her tongue in check for now.

“They haven’t seen her,” Pearl admitted. She looked at her phone, stood, walked toward her list of contacts in case of emergency. She had lists for each important person in her life; her cousin’s obviously at the top, followed by Jacob, Kestrel, then Margie. Margie’s list was mercifully short, the only one shorter being Kestrel’s. She started to dial.

Jacob heaved a sigh, reaching for his own phone. This was going to be a long bloody night.

~

Her phone was going off. Why the hell was her phone going off. Kes sighed, turning over, looking over at Ned with a little grin, high off her ass already. The dark-haired man had a bit of a haze on his eyes as well as he planted a kiss on her neck. She plucked up the phone, brain already fuzzy.

“City morgue,” She answered, “You bag ‘em, we tag ‘em.” Something about that struck her as enormously funny and she burst into giggles, flipping onto her back and looking at the ceiling. It was a mix of lights and shadows, from the smoke rising from the blunt safely in Ned’s ashtray against the light of the lamp on one side of the bed.

“Kestrel,” Pearlie’s voice sounded somewhat far away in the speaker, “Why am I not surprised? How out of your mind with marijuana are you at this moment?”

“Ummm…” Kes giggled, “Is…is ‘really, really fucking high’ an answer?” She looked down at Ned, who raised an eyebrow. “Neddles says hi.” She mouthed ‘It’s Pearlie,’ putting a finger to her lips with a grin.

“Wonderful,” Pearl sounded cranky now, “At any point in your THC-fueled debauchery, did you get a chance to speak to Margie?”

Ned seemed to have gotten bored, walking his fingers up the girl’s thigh, making her giggle and squirm, before grasping her hips and pulling her closer to him, the fingers up her thighs changing to kisses and little kitten licks. Kes gave a little noise in the back of her throat as Ned got closer…closer…

“Kestrel!” Pearl’s voice snapped through the phone, interrupting her pink sensation clouds, “Have you or have you not been in contact with Margie?”

Kes tried to ignore her, feeling Ned’s mouth against the curve of her hip, “What?” She asked, “Margie…?” She rubbed her head, “I…ummmmmmm…Mmmmm…” She bit her bottom lip against a soft moan as Ned gave her one long, wet lick. It must have still come out, because Pearl growled into the phone, “I haven’t seen Margie s-since class let o-ow- Fuck, Neddles…” She did moan for real this time as Ned gave her another couple of little licks, thumb following the slit down as his tongue went up, “Since class let out!” She babbled out all at once, hips squirming up to her dealer’s lips as the cotton in her brain began a slow burn of lust that only intensified with each little lick, little suckle on her.

Pearl sighed, “I was afraid of that.” She was quiet for a moment, Kes at least having the decency to cover her mouth and try to cover the sounds that kept escaping as the other American seemed to be tracing out his name with his tongue in the wet heat that she could barely comprehend as still being part of her, yet sent more throbs of fire and lightning up her body with every touch. “I want you to listen to me very carefully,” She said, undeterred, “If Margie calls or comes to Mr. Wynert's place, I want you to call the instant after. Do you understand?”

She took a shaky little gasp in as Ned slid a finger into her, softly stroking that spot that made her toes curl and her back arch up.

“Kestrel! Do you understand?”

“Mmm...” Kes bit her lip, trying to get actual words out, “Mmmm...y-yeah...yeah, I g-got...got it...” She looked down at Ned, who merely smirked, starting to pump his finger in and out, licking her again, “Pearlie, I gotta go. Bu-business...oh my god...business arrangement...”

“I'm sure. Try to get some sleep today.” She hung up a half second later.

~

Margie was finally warm, some of the ache out of her body. The shirt Robbie had given her barely fit her, reaching her knees, but the buttons pulled a little bit around her chest; she had to unbutton the first four to keep from possibly busting it open. But, it was nice and soft, much softer and more cuddly than her work clothes. Which, she noticed, Robbie and Henry had been kind enough to hang to let them dry.

He was already sitting on the couch when she came out, and when he looked up, she found herself blushing. He somehow always looked at her like she was the prettiest girl in the room. She couldn’t help but smile as she sat next to him, moving in against his side as he slid an arm around her shoulders.  
It felt almost normal. Surreally so, like she hadn’t just had her life flash before her eyes because of someone from her past. She curled up just a little, pulling her legs under her. It ached to do, and on top of that, she could see more of the splotchy bruises on her thighs and calves. Robbie looked down at them, then leaned over, kissing the top of her head.

“Henry is probably going to be restocking the cabinet with medicine in case you need anything. I ordered pizza for us, from the place Mrs. Auditore gets hers, so it has to be good.”

“Thank ye, luv,” She leaned her head back to look at him, wincing as she did. He winced in sympathy.

“Here,” He leaned back onto the couch, arms around her waist, pulling her very gently with him, on top of him, her head just under his chin. “Since neither of us has to move until the food gets here, and that’s almost twenty minutes out.” He looked down at her, “Is this more comfy than sitting up?”

Margie squirmed a little, making sure to get the most comfortable she could manage before nodding.

“Good.” Robbie grinned down at her, grabbing up the remote, “And now, I am going to educate you in true romantic cinema.”

“Oi foind tha’ hard ta believe,” She teased him, “Shakespeare is tha truest romance there is.”

“Not so, Miss.” He replied easily, “Behold! Pride and Prejudice! Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennett! The original Regency power couple.”  
She leaned up, kissing his chin, feeling the shirt slide down her chest just a little, “Och. Yer silly. Everyone knows Titania and Oberon are the ORIGINAL power couple.”

“Hush, and learn,” He put his finger to her lips, and she almost couldn’t feel the sting. She kissed it, too, resting her head under his chin and just watching.

She didn’t remember sliding her hand into his, intertwining her fingers with his. She watched Mr. Darcy propose disastrously the first time, eyes drifting closed. By the time she opened them, there was food on the table, though it was as if Robbie had never moved, still laying on his back, fingers clasped with hers, watching his movie.

“You passed out during the best part,” He said, thought didn’t scold her or tease her, “Hungry?” He reached up with the very tips of the fingers on his free hand, brushing the side-bang out of her eyes.

“Mmm-mmmm,” She leaned into his touch, the warm hand on her skin soothing some of the hurt away, “Wot did Oi miss?” She asked 

Robbie’s face lit up like Christmas as he started to explain. She listened, tried to absorb as much as she could, but she couldn’t help but be struck by how good he was to her. It was damn near criminal for someone to be this nice and understanding. Especially with as little judgement as he threw around.

It almost made a lump well up in her throat, and she hid her face in his chest. It hurt her face to try to keep from crying, it hurt her neck, too.

“…Margie…?” He put his hand to her hair, sliding his fingers over the damp locks, “I promise, there’s a happy ending.” He slid an arm around her waist again, “I don’t think Austen writes sad endings.” Her shoulders started to shake, “Sweetheart?” He asked gently, “Are you all right?” He started to sit up a little, “Oh, look at me, prattling on about Austen and romance when you’re probably in complete agony right now.” He pressed a kiss to her hair again. “Henry should be home soon.”

She raised her head just enough to wipe her tears away, kissing him to stop his babbling lips for one second, to just freeze this moment in time. It didn’t hurt when they kissed, hands still held together, the fingers on his other hand drifting down to grip her butt in a nearly white-knuckled grip that she rocked right back into.

She felt one of the buttons at the bottom of her nightshirt catch on the edge of his pajama pants, very gently tugging, as if threatening to come free. She pulled back from him, panting a little. “Ye stop,” She whispered, resting her forehead on his, “Ye stop bein’ perfect an’ too good fer me roight this second, Robbie Toppin’.”

He looked a little like he’d been slapped, before grinning like an idiot, kissing the tip of her nose. “You first.” He teased.

~

Pearl dialed the next number with a little bit of hesitation. She barely knew the de la Fuente girl, to be honest. She knew Margie considered her a close friend, often went shopping with her when the two had extra spending money, but she had rarely spoken to her.

Jacob had picked up and decided to go run his own search, perhaps see if he could drag Kestrel back to the house. It was almost amusing to see how twitchy he got about her, even after the small Japanese girl had told him that she and Wynert were business associates and nothing more.

She had no time to be amused right now. Nor, truth be told, time to be hesitant. She cleared the number from her phone and put it in again, sending out the call and putting the phone to her ear. It rang several times, almost going to voicemail, she was sure, before the incessant ringing sound stopped.

She heard silence, then a few quiet voices, a feminine whine before a male voice finally answered, “Hello?”

Pearl frowned. “I must have the wrong number. I was looking for Mercedes De La Fuente.”

“Oh…No, this is her phone but…” The male voice was obviously suppressing a groan.

Did NO ONE know how to keep their hands off of each other during a bloody crisis? Margie could be dead in a ditch for all they knew. She could be lying, broken and alone, in some back alley with her clothes and dignity in tatters. And Pearl did not know how in the hell to find her.

“May I speak with her?” She finally asked, teeth clenched.

“She’s…in the middle of her Philosophy homework…asked not to- Lilu, stop for one minute, please.”

“I’m afraid this may be an emergency.” Pearl pointed out. There was a slight scuffle.

The feminine voice answered, “No offense, but interrupting Mercedes in the middle of her homework, someone had best be dead or dying.” There was a muffled sound of male pleasure in the background, the one obviously being Lilu speaking next with her own teeth grit, “Who is this?”

“Pearl Attaway. And there very well might be. I’m looking for my TA, Margaret Cunningham-née-Jameson. She never made it home and sent no word that she would be late.”

“Oh.” Lilu replied, and there was a world of context that Pearl did not need in that one syllable, “I’ll ask when she come-comes out of her lair. She’ll be in touch.”

The phone went dead, and Pearl swore. She walked to the couch, picking up a pillow and giving a very unladylike roar into it. She absently picked up her phone and began to dial again. She had one hope against hope. She just prayed that Margie could hold out long enough for Lucy to untangle herself from her pretty student.

~

Lucy huffed, reaching across Evie for her phone as it went off. “Pearl. This is late, even for you.” She groaned, starting to sit up, dislodging the younger girl from her side. Evie sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes. She pressed a kiss to Lucy’s shoulder.

“I realize that. That is one of the reasons I’m calling.” Pearl seemed completely unaffected by the hour, but Lucy could hear the tension in her voice. “I realize this is a long shot, but…do you remember Margaret? My teacher’s assistant?”

“I vaguely remember you having one.” She replied, eyes widening as Evie’s hand drifted up her chest, fingers teasingly skimming across her breast, almost making her gasp.

“Well, unfortunately, I happen to like this one. And she is missing. She hasn’t called or texted all night, and she is normally home well before this time.”

Evie had been kissing up Lucy’s neck, close to the phone, before blinking in surprise. “Margaret? Does she mean Margie Cunningham-née-Jameson?”

Lucy frowned a little as the other young woman’s hand slowed. “Do you mean Cunningham-née-Jameson?” She parroted back.

“I do. Do you have an idea where she might be?”

Evie took the phone then, “Professor Attaway? Henry Greene is roommates with Margie’s boyfriend. I can call him and see if she made her way over there.”

“That would be most appreciated, Miss Frye.”

Lucy kissed up Evie’s back, up the curve of her spine toward her shoulder. In turn, the Frye girl gave a shiver, cute little goosebumps appearing on her skin.

“I’ll call in just…just a moment,” Evie leaned back into Lucy as the redhead’s hand slid over the edge of her hip, down toward her thigh, “And have Prof- Lucy call you back,” She bit her lip at the feeling of Lucy’s fingers making little spiral patterns on the inside of her thighs.

“Thank you, Miss Frye.” There was audible relief in the older woman’s voice, “I will be awaiting your call with bated breath. Try not to let LuLu distract you too much.” She hung up soon after.

Lucy sighed, looking up at Evie as she stretched out on the bed again, Evie picking up her own phone. “Don't,” Lucy murmured, “Not right now.”

“Lucy, please.” Evie chuckled, “She could be in real trouble.” She looked over at the redhead as she dialed. The professor sighed, shaking her head.

“I know.” She groaned, her hand on Evie’s thigh again as the girl listened to the slow, steady ringing. She slid her hand slowly down her leg to her knee, relishing the feeling of Evie’s silky skin beneath hers, “But, I really think that Pearl could have called him herself.”

Evie raised an amused eyebrow, “Are you jealous, Professor Thorne?” She asked with a small snicker, before Henry picked up.

“Evie,” He greeted happily, “It is very late, isn’t it? How can I help?”

Evie couldn’t help but smile. The man was a bit of a puppy when it came to their friendship, always happy, always bursting with energy, always eager to please. “Henry,” She replied, “Actually, in a roundabout way, you’re helping Professor Attaway,” She looked down at Lucy, who was running her fingers in spirals along her knee, almost absently, “Her TA is actually missing, and she and Robbie are dating...they are still dating, aren't they?”

Lucy was pouting as Evie tried her best to listen to Henry. It was a cute pout. It just didn’t fit her character, at least not what she’d seen previously. The professor sat up, moving behind her and leaning in, kissing Evie's neck. Sure that Henry could hear, though, if he did, he ignored it. Evie, for her part, managed to merely squirm and not actually moan out, especially when Lucy sucked at the skin, leaving a dark red mark, telltale. Claiming her, though Evie still. Seemed. To be listening.

It really wasn't fair, she admitted to herself, though she could still feel a little bit of the envy in her stomach. This was about Pearl, and her friend's lost TA. But, she didn't have to like it.

“Yes,” Henry finally sighed, “Yes, they’re still dating. She’s at our dorm right now.” He paused for only a moment, before spitting out what he seemed to be thinking, “Evie, it was awful. You should have seen her, soaked to the bone and covered in blood and grime and bruises from forehead to toes. I’m sure Robert is letting her stay the night.”

Evie nodded. “I’ll let Professor Attaway know where she is,” She murmured, reaching out to take Lucy’s fingers in hers, “Thank you, Henry,” She added, even as Lucy pulled her hand away and stood up to walk to the kitchen, “I’ll call you later.” She hung up before he could ask any more questions, walking after Lucy and wrapping her arms around the redhead’s waist, kissing the back of her neck.

Lucy still frowned, looking out the window over the sink. Then, she put her hand on Evie’s and closed her eyes. Frye was here with her. This is what counted.

~

Robert had Margie's lips on his before he could even think about changing out the DVDs, and he couldn't say that he was either surprised or displeased by this. His hand hovered just over her cheek, fingertips half-tangled in her hair. She slid up his body, making him groan a little, though he did so a little louder as she moved her hands up his sides, fingers running over the muscles and ridges. She pulled away only when the two of them had to breathe, slowly, reluctantly, looking into his eyes. He sat up just a little not enough to really move her and possibly cause her discomfort. Just enough to put his arm back around her, moving both hands to her hips as he started to press little kisses along her cheekbones, the tip of her nose, finally her bottom lip again, where most of the damage seemed to be.

She whimpered, legs fitting over his as he released her hair and pulled her hips in close. She kissed him back, before leaning in to his neck, kissing at that sweet spot, where his neck met his shoulder, working her way back up to his jaw, hands slipping up his shirt and her nails very, very gently running down along his ribs, equally gently kissing the very corner of his mouth.

Robbie slid his hand down from her hip, along that sweet little crevice where it met her leg, down one thigh and then up again, up under the edge of her shirt, the tips of his fingers just teasing the very edge of her lower lips. She moved up to his hand, giving another sweet little smothered whimper in the back of her throat. “I love you,” He whispered into her ear, lips brushing the soft outer shell of it, giving a little smile as she leaned her head against his, “Hear my soul speak/the very instant that I saw you, did/My heart fly to your service...” He recited in another whisper into her ear, pressing his fingers just a little bit more insistently against her, skimming her clit but not lingering, not yet.

“Robbie...” She managed out in a voice half-whine-half teasing, “Y-Ye cannae quote Shakespeare while yer doin' that to me...” Margie bit her bottom lip, and he could see the marks where she had done it so many times before, “Ye'll droive me mad.”

“Good,” He whispered to her, his other hand going to the shirt, starting to work open the buttons, his mouth starting to kiss down her collarbone, over her chest. Around the edges of each bruise that Jack Splatter had put on her.

She took his face in her hands, kissing him again, her hips writhing in time against his fingers, wanting more than the teasing he was giving her right now, pulling away just a fraction. “Ye pierce my soul,” She quoted, “Oi am half-agony, half-hope. Oi have loved none but ye.”

He pulled away only long enough to get his shirt off, her mouth kissing down his chest before he could reach for her again. She made her way all the way to the top of his pants, before kissing back up him, all the way up to his lips. Her hand slid down between them, down over his pants, where he was already more than half-hard. He felt his hips buck up toward her almost as soon as she touched him. She rubbed him through his pants, smiling a little when he moaned against her mouth. His hand shook when he reached back toward her, but she grasped his wrist, pinning it back against the couch, shaking her head, pressing the very softest little kiss against his lips.

She leaned over him a little, her breasts almost coming out of her shirt and he leaned up against her sternum, kissing up the line of cleavage with a little grin, watching her squirm against him as she slid her hand down beneath the top of his pants. “Are you sure that it won't hurt too much?” He whispered up to her.

“Aye,” She whispered back, “Yer always so gentle with me, ye'd never hurt me.” Margie's fingers slowly closed around him, and his eyes closed, a low groan escaping as she started to stroke him. She already felt like heaven, he almost didn't want to wait, didn't want to draw it out. He wanted her, he wanted her now.

The door opened and they froze, Margie turning to look over her shoulder like a deer in the headlights, “Oh!” She blushed bright red, “Henry! Erm...we were jest...um...” She cleared her throat, pulling back her hand and starting to right her clothes.

Damn it. Robbie gently laid her back on top of him, half to make sure she was still comfortable...and half because she was softer than any pillow and wouldn't hurt as much trying to conceal what they had been doing. There were times he hated having a roommate.

For his part, Henry blinked a few times, then merely cleared his throat. “Here,” He finally said, like he had elected to ignore the fact that he had just walked in on the two of them almost completely undressed. Robert had to try very hard not to pout as Henry extracted a bottle of arnica gel from one of the many plastic bags. “I can put this on your face, and I'm sure Robert can put it on your...everything else, it looks like.”

Margie flushed even brighter, nodding and raising her head from Robert's chest, letting the other man put some of the clear gel on her face, starting on her forehead, working his way down to her chin. “There. It should start feeling better soon.”

“Thank ye, Henry.”

“Yes, thank you, Henry,” Robert echoed, the smallest edge in his voice. Probably because he wanted to take care of the erection he now had to hide. Preferably in a way that made Margie’s eyes flutter, her back arch, her toes curl and her lips part in that cute little “O” shape they always did when she came.

…all right, that wasn’t helping. Back to business. Getting his roommate out of the room without offending him.

“You’re welcome,” Henry gave a small, very kind smile, “Professor Attaway said that she would be by tomorrow morning to make sure you were all right. She was very worried.”

Margie frowned, a little pucker appearing between her brows, “Ye did nae hafta do that,” She mumbled, “She’s gonna be furious. All her papers scattered ta the four winds after…”

“Given the circumstances, I’m sure she’ll understand.” Robbie kissed her cheek, near where it met her jaw, “And if not, you can stay here until she cools down, love.” She smiled at him, squirming a little to give Henry room to sit.

He shook his head. “You should get some sleep,” He added, looking at the two of them, “If you like, you can use my bed.”

Oh, now he was just being blatant. “I'm sure there's room in mine for two, Henry,” He protested, “There's never been a problem before,” He added. He looked at Margie, as if looking for support. She bit her bottom lip, “Unless...you want to sleep alone tonight.” He could understand that, considering she still looked all black and blue, bruises still on her face, though the swelling seemed to be going down. He saw the torn expression on her face, sliding a hand to her cheek and kissing her softly. “It won't hurt my feelings,” He whispered.

Margie bit her bottom lip, “Aye, might,” She pointed out, wiggling her hips just a little, making him have to fight back a groan, considering Henry was right. There. She looked at his eyes, then back at Henry, “Oi can sleep in Robbie's room.” She murmured, smiling and giving a little yawn, “Cannae rob ye of yer bed.” Slowly, wincing the whole way up, she sat up, then stood, taking a few deep breaths, “We should be gettin' ta sleep,” She added, pulling down her shirt as Robert pulled on his.

He grabbed the bottle of arnica, not even letting Henry get in a goodnight before the two of them high-tailed it to his room. He did intend to put some on her bruises, to make the rest of her body feel better. That was when his eyes went to the papers on his desk. “This'll just take a second. Go ahead and get comfy.” He kissed her, closing the door behind them. He turned, starting to organize the papers and books

He turned back to her laying on his bed, her head where his pillow would usually be, her eyes closed. Her face was content, as it had been when she'd fallen asleep during the movie earlier, her lips slightly parted, cheeks already flushing. Robbie smiled a little, reaching out and running a hand over her hair as he slid under the covers, tucking her in as she moved in against his side in her sleep, murmuring something into his neck as she did.

“Good night, love,” He whispered, closing his own eyes.

~

She’d know his voice anywhere. Like the voices of her foster father and Jack Splatter, it was branded into her memories.

“Morning, love…” He kissed her forehead, which still hurt a little from the night before. “Feeling any better?”

She barely opened her eyes, nodding. “A wee bit,” She murmured back to him with a small smile, “’m sorry Oi got ta sleep afore we could finish.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Robbie grinned at her, holding up the arnica, “Here, let’s pop on another coat, shall we?”

Maybe it was just how he said it, but, it made her grin impishly up at him, reaching down and ever so slowly shimmying out of the shirt he had given her. He stared, but not at the bruises as anyone else might have. He stared at her curves, the way her hair fell over her shoulder, the way the light fell across her chest. She leaned toward him and saw him gulp before squeezing the gel into his palm. She never broke eye contact as he started at her neck, gently rubbing the cold, clear arnica into her skin. He moved next to her shoulders, actually massaging them a little. Relaxing the tensed muscles. She leaned closer to him, shivering as he began to rub the gel lower down onto her collarbone.

“’s cold,” She giggled, holding one arm out to him.

“My poor girl,” He cooed, kissing her wrist gently, gently pulling her in closer, his lips pressed next against her neck, just behind her earlobe, “Here, let’s get you warm…” He moved his mouth along her jaw, back up to hers again.

She didn’t hesitate, feeling no pain when he was kissing her, when his gel-slick hands ran up her bruised arms to her shoulders, then down her sides to her waist. Getting the stuff to each and every bump and bruise.

She moved back on top of him, eager to finish what had been started the night before. She was squirming by the time his hands moved down to grip her hips, and she sat up to straddle him. With a small whimper, she moved her hips, slowly at first, just _feeling_ him there, sliding between her lower lips but not inside of her, the head of his cock rubbing, teasing at her clit.

He moaned almost as loudly as she did, but his hands never dug into her hips, never hurt those bruises. Margie bit her bottom lip, leaning down over him. “Are ye ready for me, luv?” She asked in a whisper, kissing the tip of his nose.

“God, yes,” He breathed out, leaning up and catching her lips for a brief moment before she sat up, taking him in her hand and starting to lower herself down…

The door burst open before she could even get the head to touch her entrance, and on instinct she threw the quilt over herself from her shoulders down, sitting safely on the mattress.

“Margaret! You scared me to death!” Pearl’s voice cut through the air like a whip, but at once, her arms were around Margie and she was hugging her tightly, “You should have called! I thought you were dead…”

She was very much caught off guard, but Margie leaned into the older woman. “’m sorry, Professor Attaway. After everythin’ tha’ happened, Oi fergot ta call…” She felt herself tear up, “And I did nae want ye mad at me. Yer test papers, Oi’m so sorry, they scattered the first time…” She trailed off.

“Of course I’m not angry. Good God, I care far much more about your well-being than a few test papers.” Now, Pearl looked at her face, “Is this his handiwork? This Jack Splatter?”

Margie nodded quietly, feeling Robbie put a hand on her arm.

“Well, we will just have to see what can be done about that, won’t we?” Pearl sounded simultaneously cold and predatory.

“Och, nae, Professor, Oi cannae do tha’. ‘tis moi mess, Oi’ll clean it up.”

“Not that the conclusion of this conversation isn’t going to be fascinating?” Jacob called from the doorway, “Why don’t we let them get dressed? I don’t need to see that much of Robert.”

Pearl kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be just outside the door. Jacob, Kestrel and I can take you to breakfast before we take you to the hospital to be checked. Your health is paramount, but the food in every medical establishment seems tailor made to make one sick.” She stood, swishing out without another word.

“Thank you, Jacob,” Robbie sighed in relief. Jacob merely gave a thumbs up and closed the door. He looked at Margie, a little agonized.

“Oi’ll sneak back after Oi get outta the doctor’s,” She murmured to hin, leaning in and kissing him, “Oi love ye, more than the sun. Thank ye sae much. Fer bein’ here fer me and bein’ perfect.”

Robbie merely smiled, kissing her back as he reached for her nightshirt. “I love you, too, Margie. You take your time. I’ll be all right…always am.” He sighed, “Just wishing for what wasn’t.” He grabbed for his own pants.

“Oi know. Later taday.” She promised, pulling on the shirt and buttoning it so she could find her real clothes.

~

Kes had turned down free food. Kes never turned down free food. Jacob walked back into the house he sometimes shared with the two women in his life, a little worried. Each of them fretted in their different ways. Pearl, as evidenced, got things done. He usually would throw fists or knives at the problem until it went away. Kes was different. Kes got solitary.

Rapping on her door, he opened the door expecting a lot of things. He expected to find her half-deep into a quart baggie of kush from Ned. He expected to find her passed out in bed from the night before. He expected to see her with her head in some piece of jewelry she would work on for the next three weeks.

He didn’t expect to see her standing in front of the floor-length mirror Pearl had insisted she have, smoothing the wrinkles out of a crisp white shirt and sliding on a surprisingly clean and well-cut looking jacket, running a comb through her messy hair and pulling it back into a short nub of a ponytail at the back of her head.

She turned and looked at him, and he could see all of it, from the tie loosely hanging around her neck, the jade cufflinks in the suit’s charcoal grey cuffs, down the length of how the white suit jacket cut close to show a alight curve at her waist. One he knew wasn’t really there. The white of the under shirt was broken only by a thin pair of black suspenders that disappeared when she shut the shining black buttons of her coat. Her pants cut close to her hips, more than likely defining that soft ass under the length of her jacket. And then, immaculately shined black shoes.

“Kes?” He asked, a little hesitantly. She looked good, he realized. Damn good. He finally dragged his eyes back up, looking at hers, “What’s with the suit?”

She gave her usual grin, lopsided and reckless. “Russians don’t like a messy gangster, Jake.” She said, “And they’re the best bet for me to find Splatter and take him out of the picture.”

His head spun a little. “Gangster?” He asked, “You’re fooling me, right?”

She shook her head, holding out a delicate hand to shake. “Miyamoto Kestrel of the Miyamoto _yakuza. Ohayogozaimasu._ ” She smiled, “Now. Are we going to go curb stomp this little shitheel or not?”


End file.
